


rosarium

by ripplingtale



Category: Mortsleia
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:02:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29065521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ripplingtale/pseuds/ripplingtale
Summary: No one ever teach him how to miss home.
Kudos: 4





	rosarium

**Author's Note:**

> The setting of Mortsleia and every characters mentioned, except the one who are made from roses, belongs to the respective owner, and I, as a writer, didn't take any material profits from the content here. Mortsleia nation, and especially Zacheus Hieronymos, I can't spell your name and I wish you a very terrible night.

“There’s a wishing well at the back of my house, you know.”

Kaine pressed the cup onto his lips, listening to the old lady chattering animatedly just across him. The tea was cold upon his tongue, and he gulped it down half empty, more to filling the silence as his thoughts swam by rather than being thirsty. “There is?” He didn’t build a vain interest, the stars set course upon his eyes the way they did when he was happy.

The old lady nodded, her name escaped Kaine’s mind, “Or so they said.”

It was the first time he had ever heard of this, which was quite strange. He remembered he used to frequent this tavern before the war whisked half of his daydreams, and the drunk men told him so many tales; the past of this country, the shadows in watchtowers of Patras, the half-made temples deep in the edge of Thessaloniki, the god that went mad of greed. They talked from dusk until dawn, until after Kaine had lost counts of bottles they had downed in their stupor, until their words meandered into gibberish and they yelled their heads off about how they have eleven fingers. However, they never once mentioned a wishing well.

Kaine tapped his fingers on the surface of his cup. “Did you try to wish upon it?” Stories to him were alike swords to a passerby once upon a time; he enjoyed it as an entertainment, and then some. But in Athena, where he was a stranger, stories to him were a trail of path for a lost boy. Drunken men spoke of dangers amongst the shrouds, fuddled women spoke of perils between the crowds, children whispered secrets no adults could understand. No one told him more than nameless people in the street did, and such he chased after their words like a moth to the sun.

The lady laughed, her voice was the warmth of a morning in midsummer. Kaine still could not remember her name; Rosettia, Roseria, Rosarium, he only knew she was made of roses, withering grey as her age came dawning like a winter. “Oh no, whatever a well could give to an old lady like me?” She spoke as if she believed, as if she didn’t spoke of something so inconceivable. She spoke in a storyteller’s faith; she saw, she heard, she had too many words.

Kaine watched as her wrinkling hands folded the cloth on the table, having enough of wiping the dust from yesterday’s drunken men’s stupor. His answer came soft, he was quite good at guessing someone’s thought, once. Now he couldn’t even hold his own without grasping ache. “Hm, peace?” Absentminded fingers scratched his cup, cheap paints caught between his nails, drawing wound just a little bit more.

He didn’t mull his answer, his head full of nothing. Surely people like her would desire peace? Kaine didn’t knew her better than he knew the people who served Zacheus, she was the owner of the tavern he used to came by, he didn’t even remember her name after all these times. Moreover, this land just ended another war, did they not? Kaine wasn’t here the first time, but she should be.

She hummed, “Lord Zacheus already gave us peace. May the stars rest upon his soul.”

Kaine lifted his gaze. The blessing was foreign, her words stabbed unto his nape, prickling cold over his flesh. Zacheus. He lowered his head, staring at his own reflection on the surface of his cup, half full, almost empty. Guilt came silent and sweet, cold fingers wrapped around his neck, nails pressed against his veins, scratching. For a moment, he was up on the roof, biting on his lips, gripping his sword tight. He opened his mouth.

He was back at the tavern.

It had been weeks since he came back to Athena, to the empty home he used to adore. Piraeus picked themselves fast, last he heard, they appointed someone to pick up the reins of authority belonged to Phaulos as they figured out what to do next. Agros was still dark, he heard nothing but whispers about their lost lord; presumably dead. They said Heudas privately arranged everything before he disappeared, but a dead man wouldn’t know the pain of being left behind. Athena was mourning, but were they not always? They have their streets paved by battles paid high, lost names engraved on stones, and this time, they wrote their leader’s name on the same tomb.

Kaine dragged his arms down from the side, pressing his palm onto the table just so he wouldn’t tremble. People who frequented this tavern knew Kaine fought both battles; against Agros and against Piraeus, they knew simply because his sister did, and they knew Selena better than her reserved younger brother, whose drunken riot once broke the tavern’s doors. However, they didn’t know Kaine turned against Athena once, even if it was for a desperate attempt, even if it was only to help them. Betrayal should be paid with head, he wasn’t dead yet. “How long have you been living in Athena?” The surface rippled murk, the tea was bitter on his tongue.

Rose tapped her fingers, her answer left no room for more questions, “Longer than you, my dear.” But of course. She was old; with grey hair braided tight and wrinkles around her face. She was a lady with more tales attached to her names than the letters that made it hers, it was no wonder if she knew more than she would tell. But then again, why would she tell? Everyone knew the history that built this land, brick by brick, piece by piece, the victory that they attained once upon a time was a warning for the gods who dared to wager their pride.

“Enough to know Zacheus?” The name left tang on his lips, sharp and unforgiving.

“Enough to know him.” Should she speak a little gentler, it was as if she raised him.

Kaine wanted to ask. Kaine knew he had no place to ask. He never knew Zacheus on personal level; it would be rude for him to pry, it would be selfish for him to inquire. He followed Selena first and foremost, he never wanted to swear allegiance for the Kingslayer. How was he, before he drifted away from his brothers? How was he, when he interacted with his people? Kaine knew Zacheus was a good man, if not a little hard around the edge, if not a little sharp around the verge, if not aloof and cold, but what did he know other than that?

Why did he want to know other than that? After the man was dead? He had time to know about Zacheus before, why now? Why not then? Was it not guilt that gnawed around his chest, wrapping around his bones? Was it not regret he held in his hands, haunting him day and night, knowing he never had the chance to kneel and apologize for his rash decision? He thought as if he could change a thing, he thought as if he would make a difference. He was nothing and no one, and no matter how much he learnt about Zacheus Hieronymos, the dead man who knew no pain of being left behind, his sin was bleak and dark and carved over his back.

The silence was suffocating, but Kaine was good at holding his breath. “Do you like him?” His voice was soft, the same tone as when he spoke prayer to the wrong god.

“As a ruler? Not necessarily.” A thin smile graced the lady’s countenance, and she closed her eyes. The burden of knowing one who led them never fell above people like her, the weight of paying loyalty to the one who protected them never fell into her hands. Her gaze was kind, unwavering, _it couldn’t be helped_. What couldn’t be helped? That she didn’t quite like Zacheus enough to worship every step he had made? That she was here since the start, on the ground in which they built Athena, in her little tavern tucked in a country that paid the price of peace not only once, but twice? She said, “But I don’t hate him either. I’m grateful for everything he had done.”

Kaine thought, that was fair. _It couldn’t be helped_. His restless digits made its way unto his wounds; blistering skin torn from holding flames too close. The bandages came loose, and his fingers made its way to pick on the scabs, drawing blood. The pain was dull on his nerves, throbbing numb, much like when a pair of fangs prickled into his neck. He heard a whisper of reprimand, he imagined it was Selena’s.

Rose wasn’t done. She placed her hand on her cheek, shaking her head with a sigh. Again with her voice, with pity pleaded too late, _it couldn’t be helped_. “Maybe if he was more like his brother, the Lord of Agros, I would come to like him,” she said, without malice, without regret, without spite and hatred. Heudas Nikolaus, beloved even by the people that weren’t his.

Kaine latched on her words. Wonder sharp on his chest. “Then why are you here?”

She had no obligations, no duty to be here. She had no loyalty. Why would she stay if she had no reason to do so? Didn’t people stay because they were tied with purpose, rooted with cause? She smiled in such way the answer was simple, in such way Kaine was thinking too much, and the world shouldn’t be taken too hard, “Because I like it here.”

And came her turn. “Why are _you_ here, my dear?”

Kaine opened his mouth, but nothing stumbled from his throat, dry and laden bitter. He was here because of Selena, once. But then, Selena was none. Why was he here, indeed? He wasn’t bounded with Athena through blood, nevermind a name. Zacheus was dead, his duty was done. What else left here for him? The empty house he used to live with Selena? The garden of flowers he cared for in a wish of seeing Adonia? Mare? Kaine loved Mare well enough to know he was surely already up and about, light-footed and winterborne, Mare was never attached to one place, he was a storm surging in and a tide coming out, he was the freedom Kaine never thought of.

Perhaps the reason he came back, despite everything that all had been said and done, despite his ache of sitting alone in the dark house, because he felt like he owed a reason to Athena. Because he owed them an apology, because he thought maybe if he didn’t run away from Excelsis, maybe if he was a little stronger, a little fearless, a little something that wasn’t him, he could leap and grab Zacheus’ arm and save him. Maybe he could kneel, then, maybe he could apologize. Selena was strong and never wrong, Mare was cruel and fierce, but was that Athena’s fault?

Perhaps the reason he came back, despite everything that all had been said and done, despite the throb of standing alone in the empty house, because he stepped upon this ground and thought it made Athena his home, because he bowed his head to Zacheus Hieronymos and thought it made him his lord. Because he thought he owed them something, anything, everything, just like how he owed Selena his faith; and he owed Mare his heart.

Kaine fiddled with his fingers, blood dripping from his thumb, unto the wooden counter polished flush, and he wiped it fast so Rose wouldn’t. His heart beat a thump, his head frazzled numb. Why was he here, still? He had a debt to pay, but he couldn’t fetch the price. He thought of Zacheus, the dead man who didn’t know the pain of being left behind. Kaine remembered the weight of his hand on his head, the warmth that used to be Selena’s. His head sunk low.

Would Zacheus mind lilies? Begonias? Would he mind roses, forget-me-nots, bells of canterburies that bloomed from his bones? Would he mind that Kaine knew nothing about flowers, and dumped stars altogether on his grave, in exchange of apology that never left his throat? He thought, perhaps he could try, if only he knew where they buried their lord. He thought, it was quite selfish, but Sanctuary never made him as a vessel of virtues.

Kaine pushed his cup away from his face.

Rose raised an eyebrow, “You’re not drinking?”

The cup was half empty, long gone cold and steeped sour. He pretended to consider her query, though he wasn’t one who would drink needlessly, he was a liar if he didn’t enjoy forgetting every single thought that came across his mind. Thinking was tiresome, he wished he was back at the moment he leaped from the roof, and fell into Mare’s arms, simply because he knew it would be alright if he didn’t think about anything at all. “I have no one to take me home.” That much was true. The house was empty, Selena wasn’t there anymore. Naska would help him walk his body home, but the angel wouldn’t do it because he wanted to.

“I can call your sister to take you,” the lady said, kindly.

The thought of Selena grasped his lungs, dragging teeth across his wounds. _It couldn’t be helped_. He shook his head, dragging himself to stand, pulling at the strap of his bag that draped close by his side. “It’s fine.” His chair scrapped against the floor as he pushed it back.

Kaine smiled.

“I’m not going home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come slander me at twitter, fellas.


End file.
